


Cut the Deck

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [20]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: But also, Caring Hotch, Dad Hotch, Homophobia, Hospitals, Hurt Spencer, Hurt Spencer Reid, I'm neither confirming nor denying that spencer is a twink, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer Whump, Whump, Whumptober 2020, a DIY-ectomy if you will, annyyywayyyy, but this one's worse 'cause he's homophobic, do it yourself surgery, feat. shitty unsubs, field medicine, i mean to be fair the majority of unsubs are shitty, in which the entire BAU has a breakdown and dave's the only one that can think, jk he's a twink we all know that, still trying to make that one a tag, the whump is bountiful this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Spencer's rather tired of getting hurt on cases. At least this time all he got was some bruising....right?Day 20: Field Medicine
Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948174
Comments: 32
Kudos: 259
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Cut the Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I just wanted to give an extra thank you for all of your kind words on yesterday's fic, it honestly means the world to me. As a treat, this shit is over 5k long haha. (Don't expect the rest of the fics to be this long this shit hurteded me lmao)
> 
> Please Enjoy! :D

The BAU team sat around the edges of the table, save for Morgan, who was just sitting on the table itself. Hotch turns a blind eye to it, praying that Strauss doesn’t decide to walk in during this briefing. 

Spencer interrupts his thoughts when he muses, “It’s likely a male unsub. Strangulation actually takes more work that you’d think. Along with taking approximately 4.4 PSI to strangle an adult male, the unsub would half to also be strong enough to keep the victim still for nearly an entire minute, while they thrash in an attempt to escape.”

Blake nods, turning one of the pictures in the file to show Spencer, “And the bruising on the neck indicates someone with large hands,”

“Was there any DNA on any of the bodies?” Morgan asks, stretching his neck to get a good look at the picture.

Garcia shakes her head, “Nope. Coroner report says that each victim was washed with bleach, posthumously.”

“Probably not a sign of remorse,” Hotch acknowledges, “But just a forensic countermeasure.”

“And it works.” Spencer agrees.

Moving his iPad to the middle of the table, Hotch announces, “Alright, we have five victims over the course of just under a month, so we’re on a time table. We’ll brief more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

Walking back out into the bullpen, Spencer continues brainstorming, imagining the shape and build of their unsub. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t take into account the new desk changes, and walks straight into Morgans, eliciting a laugh out of the older man.

“Goin’ blind, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Spencer just replies, “The average male’s eye sight doesn’t decline until around age 40, at the earliest,” Smirking, he finishes, “So in reality, you’re going to go blind before me.”

Morgan pretends to flick Spencer on the nose, snorting at his indignant look. “Uncalled for, kid. Uncalled for,” And then, picking up his own go-bag, he announces, “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll give you lift to the air strip.”

*

On the jet, Blake and Spencer sit beside each other, comparing notes on victimization.

“He must blend in well,” Blake mutters, making a face at the police reports. “According to witnesses, the victims were last seen in public places. It’s no easy feat to abduct an adult while others are watching.”

“Unless he’s able to take them through threats,” Spencer counters.

Rossi speaks up, “‘Get in the car or I’ll shoot you,’” He mimics.

“But he’s been taking adult males,” She points out. “Many of them wouldn’t fall for a threat like that, unless they could see the gun itself. And at that point, the witnesses would’ve been able to see the weapon as well.”

Nodding, Spencer agrees, “And even if the unsub did threaten them, males are more likely to make the fight physical, even if there was a potential weapon.”

Rossi just groans. “It’s one of these cases where it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Hopefully the witnesses will be of extra help this time around,” Hotch jumps in, handing a spreadsheet over to Spencer. “Blake and Reid, you’ll go talk with the families and witnesses, find out if they saw anything suspicious. JJ, you and Morgan head to the coroner’s office and get a better look at the bruising. Check what angle it was at. And Dave, you and I are going to get set up at the precinct.”

Spencer does one of his half, tight lipped smile, barely focusing on Hotch’s instructions. Instead, he’s still trying to figure out how five men were able to be overpowered so easily.

*

The jet lands a few towns away, the closest city they could get to with an airport. Spencer’s never liked cases in small towns, and he’s sure that part of it has to do with the long drive over. The team splits up into two SUVs from the airstrip, and drive a little over an hour along empty, winding roads until they finally reach the town. From there, Blake and Spencer take one of the SUVs to the newest victim’s home.

While Blake shakes the hand of the newly widowed, Spencer looks around the house, taking note of the pictures hanging nearly everywhere in the house. Even though he didn’t exactly grow up in a normal household, he’s pretty sure that eight and nine framed pictures per wall is a bit excessive.

He’ll have to ask Blake to confirm.

Margaret Holman shows them to the kitchen, leading them to chairs.

“What did your husband do for a living, Mrs. Holman?” Blake asks politely, even though they already have the report of Dave Holman tucked away.

Clutching a tissue in her hand, Margaret replies, “Oh, he was a lawyer. He worked downtown, as a defense attorney. You don’t think it had to do with that, do you?”

With an awkward smile, Spencer responds, “We’re just covering all bases, Ma’am. How would you describe Dave? Is he friendly or does he tend to be more shy?”

“Oh, he was so friendly, agents. And every Thursday he went down to the bar with his friends to watch football, you know? He had tons of them. And he’s gone to plenty of parties as well. You know, I’m not much of a party person, but he always was.” When more tears fall from her eyes, Spencer looks to the side, not exactly sure what he should be doing.

Blake puts her hand on Margaret’s arm, comforting her, “We’re so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Holman. Are you up for answering a few other questions?”

“Oh, sure,” She sadly replies.

“Was Dave at the bar last Thursday?”

Nodding, Margaret answers, “Yes, just like the other Thursdays, to meet with his friends. Something about fantasy football? I’m not sure exactly what that is,”

“Mrs. Holman,” Spencer starts, face cocked slightly to the side, “Do you watch football as well? Or was it just your husband?”

With a wet chuckle, she replies, “Oh no, no, not me. My husband got my two sons into football as well, but I’ve never liked it. Such a violent sport, you know?”

Spencer nods in agreement, before sharing a look at Blake. “I think that’s all we’ll need for now, Mrs. Holman. You’ve been a big help,” He acknowledges, giving her another smile, before he and Blake head back out to the SUV.

After the doors slam shut, Spencer looks up at Blake. “There isn’t American Football in the summer months,”

Sighing, Blake agrees, “Yep. Let’s go see what Holman was actually doing at the bar.”

*

The bartender is a young man, wiping off a few tables before the early night rush begins. He only has one customer, and he’s in the back booth, sipping at what appears to be a club soda.

“Dave?” Michael, the bartender starts, “Oh yeah, he’s one of my regulars. I saw what happened on the news, poor fucker.”

“Did he come every Thursday?” Blake asks.

Throwing a dirty rag across his bar, Michael replies, “Oh yeah, without fail. Hell, some of the days he’d still come in his suit. ‘Was a lawyer or something. He told me at one point what he did, but it gets muddled with the rest of my customers.”

“Even though he was regular?” Spencer questions with a frown.

“Well sure,” Michael notes, “Just because he was a regular don’t mean he wants to talk with me.”

Frowning, Spencer asks, “Did he come here to just sit alone then?”

Snorting, Michael jokes, “Oh God, no. I don’t think Dave ever sat alone. That’s why he didn’t talk with me much, you know. He always had friends or something to talk with.”

“‘Or something’?”

“Well I’m no expert,” Michael continues his laugh, “But I don’t think it’s just ‘friends’ that stick their tongues down each other’s throats.”

Blake takes a breath. This is what was missing in all of the witness statements. “He was gay?”

“He sure as hell wasn’t straight,” Michael chuckles. “And I mean, I don’t gotta problem with it. Customers are customers, if you know what I mean.”

Absentmindedly nodding, Spencer asks, “Was Dave ever here with the same man?”

Michael shrugs. “Sometimes. And other times every Thursday he’d show up with a new guy on his arm. It ain’t my business, you know? I didn’t bother him about it.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about Dave? Was he acting strange last Thursday?” Blake asks, face pulled into a frown.

“Naw. At least, not that I saw. Too bad he’s dead though. ‘Was one of my best customers. Always paid his tab.”

Blake nods. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help to us, Michael.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” Michael shakes her hand, before turning to stand behind his bar.

Spencer frowns when they leave the bar. “I’m honestly not surprised someone hasn’t been kidnapped behind here before,” He muses, motioning to the tall buildings surrounding the alleyway that the bar is nestled in.

Blake just shrugs, pulling out her phone. “Can’t argue with you there. The buildings don’t even have security cameras. So,” She begins, with a frown, “Dave Holman is a closeted gay man, maybe that’s what the victims all have in common?”

“Maybe,” Spencer notes, also with a frown. “But the bar seems like a strange place to kidnap from. It’s doesn’t seem to be pro nor anti gay.” 

“Yeah,” Blake sighs. “I’m gonna call Hotch, and we’ll head back to the station.”

Spencer nods, turning to face one of the corners of the building. “It looks like the alley’s mouth is wide enough to fit a car, maybe that’s how the unsub’s been transporting the victims? Then again, only Dave was taken from here,”

“I’m not sure,” Blake notes.

“I’m gonna go check it out,” Spencer announces, leaving Blake as she dials Hotch.

Turning the corner, Spencer does a few quick calculations to figure out how wide the car could be and still fit down the alley. If it was too big, it couldn’t go deep enough, and onlookers could see it from the main street. However if the car was too small, it wouldn’t be useful for transporting adult males.

Suddenly, a voice causes him to whip around. “You know, Michael’s right. He doesn’t care if you’re gay or not.” It belongs to the customer from inside, who was once sipping his club soda.

Eyes tightening, Spencer tries, “Were you listening to our conversation?”

Ignoring Spencer’s question, the man continues, “But he should care. My dad used to bring me to that bar, back when fags weren’t allowed, and you know what? It was a helluva lot better back then.”

Spencer reaches for his gun, grateful for the fact that he had his holster on him when they left to get statements. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter what my name is, fag. What matters is that people like you are fucking up the place!”

Spencer attempts to call out for Blake, but is barely able to get the monosyllabic word out before the man runs up, slamming him against the wall so hard his head nearly bounces off. Between the sudden head trauma and the sudden movement, Spencer isn’t able to raise his Smith & Wesson before the man can snatch it out of his hand.

For a second, Spencer’s sure that he’s going to die from the bullets of his own weapon, but that fear goes away when he hears his gun clatter to the floor. And then a new fear replaces it: he’s going to die at the hands of what must be their unsub.

His meaty hands find their place against Spencer’s throat, thumbs pressing down on his fragile trachea, eliciting instant horror. The rest of his fingers secure themselves around his neck, giving the unsub more leverage to press down.

After attempting to take a breath, the noise Spencer makes is horrifying to Blake, who’s just turned the corner after hearing the commotion.

She unceremoniously drops the phone, leaving the voice of Hotch on the asphalt and concrete as she draws her own weapon.

“Step away and put your hands in the air!” She shouts, cocking her gun.

The unsub’s head snaps to the side, giving her a glare. “I’m doing the world a favor! You agent here is a fucking fag!”

“This is your last chance, put your hands up!” Blake yells back, trying to not pay attention to Spencer weakly raking his nails across the unsub’s arms, who doesn’t even seem to feel it.

“I’m doing you a favor!” He reiterates, a second before his body jerks from the force of a bullet in his head.

To Blake’s horror, Spencer follows suit, falling to the ground as soon as his neck is free. 

Blake backtracks a few steps, scooping up her discarded phone and putting her weapon away in one fell swoop. Unsurprisingly, Hotch is screaming into her ear, laced with worry.

She interrupts him, “Hotch, I need an ambulance at my location. We’re at Dave’s bar, and I think the unsub was here. Reid’s down.”

There’s cursing on the other side, before Hotch confirms that they’re heading her way. With one last assurance that they’ll be there in a few minutes, Blake hangs up, quickly making her way toward Spencer.

He’d managed to pull his body halfway up, using the brick of the building behind him. Spencer tries to tell her something, but his mouth opens without any sound coming out. After a few dry coughs, he’s able to whisper, “He’s dead. No pulse, I checked.”

“I don’t care about him right now,” Blake admits, crouching down next to the younger agent. “Are you okay? What hurts?”

Swallowing with a grimace, Spencer replies, “I’m okay. I didn’t even lose consciousness.”

“You set an extremely low bar, Reid.” Blake acknowledges with a dry laugh. “Move your hand, let me see your throat.”

Spencer dutifully lowers both of his hands, making a face when he attempts to stretch his neck up.

“How’s your breathing?” Blake asks, pressing a gentle finger below his chin. For not the first time in her life, she wishes she had her husband’s medical knowledge.

Half huffing out a breath, Spencer murmurs, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just a little shaken,”

“Okay,” Blake takes a deep breath, “We’re gonna get you looked at by the medics when they arrive, got it?”

Spencer makes a face, but knows better than to argue with Blake. He tries to clear his throat, wincing when it feels like he decided to swallow a bunch of paperclips for fun. Blake keeps her eyes on him, wholeheartedly ignoring the dead body next to them.

The ambulance gets there before Hotch and Rossi, and a team of paramedics nearly jump out of the vehicle before it’s even stopped moving. A few head towards Spencer, who’s now looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

Blake can’t tell if it’s a combination of the dead body next to him, the numerous living people surrounding him, or the bruising on his throat. She figures it’s probably all three.

The paramedics help him stand up, and Blake moves to his other side, keeping a supporting hand on his back.

When he’s sitting on the bed of the ambulance, Hotch pulls up, getting out of the SUV as quickly as the paramedics did with their own vehicle.

“Reid,” Hotch calls out, hastily making his way toward his youngest agent. He frowns when he sees the red around his neck. Turning to one of the paramedics, Hotch asks, “What’s the prognosis?”

“We think he got lucky,” She answers, still facing her patient, “It just seems to be bruising, but we’d still like to take him to the hospital.”

Making a face, Spencer counters, “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t sound fine,” Blake murmurs, loud enough for Hotch to hear. And she’s right. Spencer’s breathing doesn’t sound quite right. She can’t decide if it’s too loud or not loud enough, but it doesn’t sound normal.

Rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager, Spencer protests, “I really am fine. My oxygen levels are fine, right?” Spencer asks, directing his view to the paramedic next to him.

Glancing at a monitor, she answers, “It’s within normal range, yes,”

“See?”

“Reid-”

“Please don’t make me go to the hospital, Hotch.” Spencer interrupts, using his puppy dog eyes that he swears he doesn’t have.

Blake watches as Hotch weighs his options. From behind him, she can see Rossi’s raised eyebrows, also attempting to calculate the chance that Hotch will let Spencer go back to the hotel without a trip to the hospital.

Against his better judgement, Hotch asks the EMT, “Will he be okay without going to a hospital?”

At least she doesn’t seem to think on it too hard before she answers, “I’m not going to insist on a hospital, but I definitely don’t think it can hurt.”

“We’d rather not take a detour to the hospital,” Hotch muses, “Reid isn’t the best with them. What do we need to keep a lookout for?”

“If he has trouble swallowing, whether it be food, drink, or even his own saliva, make sure to take him in,”

“I’m right here,” Spencer mutters, sending a weak nasty look at his Unit Chief.

Continuing as if she didn’t hear him, the EMT notes, “And of course if he loses the ability to speak, or if he has trouble breathing. Are you sure no hospital?”

With a sigh, Hotch mutters, “Unfortunately, yes.” Shaking his head, he continues, “C’mon Reid, we’re getting you back to the hotel. Even if it’s case closed, we have things to wrap up with the PD, so we won’t be flying out until tomorrow morning.

Spencer nods, all too grateful to avoid a plethora of doctors.

It brings back certain memories he’s not the fondest of.

*

Garcia managed to snag separate rooms for all of the team, but Hotch is weary about leaving his youngest agent on his own.

“You’ll call if anything happens?” Hotch confirms, moving Spencer’s cell to the bedside table.

“Yes, Hotch, I’ll call. But nothing’s going to happen.”

Hotch just sighs. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine without a hospital?”

“I’ll be fine.” Spencer rolls his eyes, wincing at his voice. It’s still too breathy to be his own, which bothers him more than Spencer thinks it should.

With one last glance, Hotch nods, closing the hotel door behind him.

*

Spencer wakes in the middle of the night.

He isn’t sure what caused him to wake, but he does know that he’s not going to be able to get any more sleep for the night. The only thing he can hear in his quiet hotel room is just his light wheezing. It reminds him of the broken plastic whistle he had as a kid. Rolling over to his back, Spencer takes a deep breath before glancing at the clock.

The clock reads, 3:48, and Spencer’s relieved with the amount of fairly deep sleep he got. Internally cursing his dry throat, Spencer stumbles from the bed to the small bathroom, fumbling for the glass on the counter. 

After filling it up, Spencer takes a quick drink, grumbling when he nearly chokes on it. What did his mom use to call it? Going down the wrong pipe. He tries to cough it out, but his trachea evidently doesn’t get the picture, and it doesn’t work.

With a frown, Spencer goes back to the bed and wraps his body with the cheap blankets. Even though he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep, Spencer still closes his eyes.

*

Hotch greets Spencer in the hotel lobby with good news.

“We got everything sorted out with the local detectives, and we’re clear to drive and fly back home after breakfast.”

Spencer nods, clutching his messenger bag closer than he usually does. If Hotch notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

JJ waves from the breakfast line, and Spencer joins her from the side. She frowns when he doesn’t pick up a plate. “Feeling okay, Spencer?”

Giving a tight smile, he confirms, “I’m good. My throat is just sore.”

With a sympathetic smile, JJ pats his shoulder and muses, “Yeah, you don’t sound so good. Maybe some tea?”

“Or coffee,” Spencer smiles, breaking off so he can pour himself a cup of coffee. After five sugar packets, he deems the coffee edible, and falls into a seat between Morgan and Blake. The both note the lack of food, but neither say anything.

As he drinks his coffee, Spencer keeps having to clear his throat, wincing each time the liquid makes its way down. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Blake asks, catching Spencer off guard.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, I’m okay. Ready to get back home.”

Blake chuckles, “Me too. Do you have your go-bag ready?”

Spencer nods, and within thirty minutes they’re on the road.

The team splits three and three again, Hotch, Blake, and Spencer in one car, while Rossi, Morgan, and JJ take the other. 

Spencer can tell his wheezing is changing, but it doesn’t sound like it’s getting worse. Rather than getting more rattled and loud, it just turns more breathy. At some point, Blake asks him a question, and when Spencer answers, it comes out as a whisper. 

He can nearly hear Blake’s frown from the first seat.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay? You don’t sound too good,” She acknowledges, turning to face the back seat. When Blake sees his pale demeanor, her frown deepens. “Spencer?”

Hotch doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he still questions, “Are you okay?”

Spencer tries to respond with a simple, “I’m okay,” but the entire first word just becomes an exhale of breath. Attempting to clear his throat, Spencer asks, “Blake?” However all that passes through is, “Kuh?”

Heart thumping in her chest, Blake tries one more time, “Spencer?”

This time, all she gets in response are just dry, breathy tones.

“Hotch, pull over,” Blake demands, already unbuckling her seat belt to get a better look at the agent in the back. “Something’s wrong with Reid,”

After a quick curse, Hotch easily slides into the shoulder, and a few seconds later, the other SUV does as well, but out of curiosity rather than fear.

Once the car is stopped, Blake quickly makes her way to the back seat, unbuckling Spencer. “Reid, what’s happening? Can you breathe?” She can tell that he’s puffing out air, but it’s so airy that it doesn’t seem to be doing anything.

“‘Kuh,” He whispers again, which does nothing but increase her anxiety ten fold.

“Reid,” She instructs, “Listen to me. Can you breathe?”

“‘Kay,” Spencer says again, attempting to articulate a single consonant.

Sucking in a quick breath she turns to Hotch and swallows, “I don’t think he can breathe,”

Hotch brings both of his hands up to his face in fists, before forcing himself to put them back down. “Okay, we need to get him on the ground,” He instructs, just as the other SUV as stopped, and the other half of the BAU pour out.

“What’s happening, Hotch?” Morgan asks.

Not a second later, JJ gasps and cries out, “Spence? Spence!”

“He’s going to be fine,” Hotch states, as if he could will it into existence. I need one of you to call Garcia and get an ambulance here in record time.”

Despite knowing that he should be concerned with the knowledge, Spencer lets his eyes close. It’s nice. Peaceful. Until someone puts their hand on his shoulder and forces him to stay awake. Spencer blinks lazily up to the sky, frowning when the bright blue fades into a light gray instead. He can barely make out the voices above him, and he’s pretty sure he’s already missed half of a conversation.

“We don’t have choice, Aaron,” Rossi barks out, motioning at Spencer. “The kid won’t make it to the hospital, you know that!”

With a frown, Spencer does what he does best: think. He tries to catalogue his symptoms, as does his best to ignore the fact that he’s most definitely dying. 

“Kul,” He whispers to anyone who’s listening. Spencer’s face scrunches up, annoyed at the lack of words coming out of his mouth. “Kul,” He tries again with more force, but it still doesn’t help. “Teh kul,” He breathlessly whispers, “Kul koh puh,” Spencer attempts, before he realizes that there’s no way he’s going to be able to articulate the words, “Vocal cord paralysis.”

From the side, he can hear JJ’s sobs, and he wishes he could do something to stop it. Spencer would do anything for JJ’s cries to end. It’s a heart wrenching sound. He lets his eyes slip closed on that thought. 

Hotch rubs a hand over his face, before growling out, “Fine. Morgan, get a pen,  _ now. _ Rossi, do you still have your lighter?” With a quick toss, Hotch is in possession of all of the pseudo surgical instruments he can get. 

Sitting on his knees next to his dying agent, Hotch instructs, “Rossi and Blake help hold him down,” Upon hearing JJ’s broken howls akin to when Will walked in the bank, he swallows, “Morgan? Don’t let JJ see this.”

Hotch isn’t one to believe that his agents can’t handle something, but he doesn’t want JJ to watch him possibly kill her child’s godfather.

With a pocket knife in one hand, Hotch stares at his youngest agent. He’s already had to watch Spencer die once, and he has no desire to see it again. When Spencer’s breathing turns into a whistle, Hotch is spurred into action. Despite the fact that the last time he stepped foot in a church outside of cases was when he was eleven, Hotch prays to any God he can think of.

And then he presses the blade of his beloved pocket knife into the neck of his youngest agent.

Unsurprisingly, Spencer doesn’t react well to being cut in his neck below his Adam’s apple. Still barely conscious, Spencer can feel the blade cut through each of the rings of cartilage, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Rossi, hold his head,” Hotch murmurs, taking a deep breath before pressing down further.

He’s rather horrified when he reaches Spencer’s trachea. Even between the blood pooling in the wound, Hotch can see the barrier of the young doctor’s throat, and it makes him gag. However, now isn’t the right time to have a weak stomach, and he presses on.

“Spence!” JJ sobs from the side, a yell so primal it hurts Hotch’s own chest.

With one last breath, Hotch slices through Spencer’s trachea. He grabs the empty pen body before more blood pools and covers his field of view. With a gulp, Hotch maneuvers it in Spencer’s throat, before an absolutely awful sound comes out. And then a second later, the wheezing stops, and he can feel the air coming from the pen body.

When he sits back on his heels, Hotch feels like he’s about to cry. And once glance up tells him that Blake has already lost that battle. Speaking of battles, Morgan has lost the one between him and JJ, and in a fraction of a second, she races over to cradle Spencer’s head.

His eyes flutter up and down, never quite closing all of the way, and never quite opening all of the way. It’s obvious that he doesn’t exactly know what’s happening.

Hotch stands up, and Rossi calls out, “Whoa, Aaron?” He’s about to tell Rossi off, until he feels his body list to the side, narrowly saved by the older man.

“Alright, alright, let’s sit you back down. You’re not passing out on us, got it?”

“Got it,” Hotch mumbles, one hundred percent sure that he’s just taken twenty years off of his life. At least. 

It takes nearly thirty minutes until an ambulance comes zooming from the bottom of the hill. Hotch has to force himself to step away from Spencer, but his coworkers aren’t having the same luck as he did.

Morgan has to quite literally peel JJ from Spencer, and Rossi gently steers Blake to the side so the EMTs have room to work. Hotch never takes his eyes off of Spencer the entire time. 

When it’s time to leave, Hotch places himself on the bench of the ambulance, adamantly refusing to move from Spencer’s side. The ambulance leaves as fast as it arrived, kicking up dirt from the old highway.

The four agents left stay eerily silent for nearly an entire minute, until Rossi announces, “Guess we’re headin’ back into town.”

*

By the time the rest of the BAU arrives at the hospital, one Aaron Hotchner is pacing back and forth in the waiting room, blood still covering his hands, and the side of his face when he wiped his brow. Rossi immediately forces him to sit down, pushing his head between his legs.

“Aaron, take a breath,” He instructs, glaring at any onlookers that dare to watch.

Morgan comforts JJ, and Blake’s looking rather sick, nearly green in the face. They all knew that Spencer was the glue that keeps them together, but they didn’t realize how hard it would be without him.

Once Hotch had calmed down, Rossi leads him to the bathroom to wash up. When he comes back out, he announces, “They took Reid back for surgery. When he was strangled, one of his vocal cord bands became paralyzed. They’re,” Hotch pauses, frowning, “Trying to repair it. I need to call Strauss,” He excuses himself, nearly running out of the waiting room.

Morgan sends a look to Rossi, who just shrugs. “Give him a minute,”

Despite the extra knowledge, it does nothing to soothe JJ, who falls back into Morgan’s chest, nearly soaking his shirt with tears.

“He’ll be okay,” Rossi confirms. “Kid’s too smart to die.”

“Yeah,” JJ cries.

*

Spencer wakes up in a deep fog, brain muddled. Nothing quite makes sense in this moment, but he isn’t exactly worried about it.

Voices swim around him, and although he hears it, his brain doesn’t digest it.

“Reid? Can you hear me?”

Spencer lethargically blinks in agreement. Wait. Agreeing to what? Who said that?

“You’re intubated right now, so your throat probably feels strange, okay? But you’re going to be okay.”

Spencer lets his eyelids slip closed, lulled to sleep by a random voice that he can’t place. It’s nice though, he thinks. It’s a nice, soothing voice. 

*

“Reid? Reid, just try and breathe normally,”

Spencer doesn’t know who’s talking, or even why they’re talking. A second later Spencer realizes that he’s nearly hyperventilating, and then the voice begins to make a bit more sense.

“Reid, you have to try and slow down your breathing, okay?”

Opening his eyes, Spencer looks up for the first time, and sees the fuzzy outline of his Unit Chief. He tries to open his mouth to talk, but he very quickly realizes that it won’t be possible.

Luckily, Hotch realizes it too. “You’re intubated right now, so you can’t talk, okay? You’re going to be fine though. Your first surgery went well, and you’re going to be just fine.”

If Spencer could, he would frown. Surgery?  _ First _ surgery? Spencer doesn’t remember any of it. He has faint memories of choking on air, but nothing more past that. After a weak attempt to bring his hand up to his neck, he’s rendered exhausted, and before he knows it his eyes are closed once again.

*

“‘You with us, Pretty Boy?”

Opening his eyes, Spencer gives a weak groan. “Hng?”

“Yeah, there he is. Are you in pain?”

Spencer finds Morgan’s face and frowns. “Wha’?”

A new voice surprises him. “Reid, are you in pain?”

“Hm,” Spencer furrows his brow. “I don’ ‘hink so?”

“Good.” Spencer smiles when he places the voice. It’s Hotch. Unit Chief Hotch.

“Mmhm.”

Hotch sighs. “You have us quite a scare there, Reid.”

“Sorry,” Spencer tiredly replies.

“Next time you have to tell us when you’re hurting, okay?”

“Mm.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Hotch reiterates, “You’ve got to tell us. We were all really worried.”

Spencer tries to nod, but ends up nodding himself to sleep.

As he falls back into unconsciousness, he hears Hotch one last time, “You’re okay now. You’re okay, Spencer.”

And if the young doctor was awake, he would realize that Hotch isn’t soothing Spencer, but instead calming himself down.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun doing hours of research for this fic! The resources I used are [here,](https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/vocal-cord-paralysis/symptoms-causes/syc-20378873) [here,](https://www.healthline.com/health/tracheostomy#uses) [here,](https://www.mountsinai.org/locations/grabscheid-voice-swallowing-center/conditions/vocal-cord-paralysis) [here,](https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/tracheostomy/about/pac-20384673) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pK4P8Dda5Ng) extremely explicit video of a tracheostomy!
> 
> Did it end rather abruptly? Yes. Do I hate how it ended? Yes. Do I care? A little bit, but this fic was already too long and I still have 10 other fics to write sfklfdskjdfsl SO, this one is just gonna have to end here lol.
> 
> Anyway, as always I love to hear your guys' thoughts! Come talk with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3
> 
> Much love to all of you, and please take care until tomorrow!! <3


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